‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. Speak lower. For my blood you made it very hot indeed. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried.
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